A Future We Would Make Ourselves
By littlelights
Disclaimer: I am not making any money, blah, blah, blah.
Big reading warning for this chapter. Intense stuff. Look away or wait for the next chapter if you're easily offended.
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Chapter 29
The three newborn dragons cocked their little heads to the side in unison, watching their mother intently as she readied herself for the day. Their beady little eyes gazed at her with a mixture of love and admiration. They ate from her hand and settled into the furs of her cloaks for warmth. For all the challenges of raising her first three dragons amongst starvation, wartime, and betrayal, Daenerys Targaryen found herself experiencing some of the same difficulties with these new arrivals.
This time, it wasn't the glaring sun and desert which would kill her children, it would be the freezing winds and snow which would snuff the life from their tiny bodies.
Unlike the first three brood, her newest hatchlings were all female. She had named the largest Rhaella, in honor of her departed mother. The smaller two were named Dreamfyre and Aelinor. If all went well, they would grow up and mate with the oldest three dragons, ensuring the line of dragons would continue in Westeros.
For now, the three hatchlings were content to devour the cooked bits of meat she fed them, squeak and chirp their greetings when visitors arrived to the tent, and perch atop her body while council was held. It had been too cold to introduce them to the older dragons, but in the near future, those introductions would need to be meted out.
Daenerys was in no rush to see these little ones grow up so quickly.
Her nephew Jaehaerys had found a moment to pay a visit to the young dragons. The three hatchlings had sniffed his hands and arms, chirping their approval as he fed them cooked meat and stroked their long necks with his finger. For all their immense significance, Daenerys could see the dragons would never unseat the king's the affection for little Robb Stark. Jaehaerys was devoted to his wife and child unconditionally.
She envied her nephew for his son, a healthy baby who was now two months old. From Lady Arya's description, the babe was as handsome and dark as his father, a Stark through and through. Jaehaerys hid his longing for his family in check, focusing his efforts on picking off the undead army to the point where the army could ride out and take out what was left of the Night King's legions once and for all.
A raven had managed to survive the weather delivering news that the Lady of Winterfell and her son were well, and had taken a sworn sword by the name of Sandor Clegane to protect the young lordling. Lady Arya, with her cropped hair, leather armor, and shrewd yet fierce personality vouched for Clegane. Jaehaerys hadn't seemed particularly enthused with the idea, but his cousin had been safe and protected in the knight's keeping for several months after Lady Catlyn Stark and her son King Robb had been murdered at the Twins. Lady Arya's journey had been far from comfortable, but the man had kept her alive through several trials.
The smaller scroll, enclosed in the first, was for the king's eyes only. Daenerys had seen her nephew read the note, tuck it into his chest pocket, and carry it with him wherever he went. He seemed to be tucking his little family close to his heart, keeping them nearby in the only way possible. The previous evening, he'd confided that he wished he'd had time to court his wife before they were wed. Their marriage had been rushed affair, and over time he'd grown to love her from afar. Daenerys thought it was so tragic to see her nephew, a man who had come of age deprived of a mother's love would seek to win the affections of a woman he'd already married.
Daenerys was sympathetic to his plight. After all, she'd been the one to change the relations between herself and Khal Drogo by learning to be brave, to voice her needs, and recognize the strength of their marriage partnership. She hadn't loved her husband at first, but it had grown over time. Now Jaehaerys was in a similar predicament.
"My wife has endured so much. I don't know how to make her happy," He said simply, exhaustion making the rough scratch of his accent darker. He sat before the brazier with a little dragon perched on his shoulder, feeding it little bits of cooked meat when it chirped happily at him.
"You get what you put into a marriage." Daenerys countered, stroking the two other dragons as they perched on her arm and shoulder. "If you take the time to tell her what you need, ask her what she wants, and follow through on her requests, she will love you. Drogo and I were as different as could be, but he listened and honored me. It was slow at first, and he and our son live in my heart every day. He still is the moon of my life, and I will love no other."
"This is different. She was raised to be a high born lady. I was never meant to have her," Jon said his words cloaked in wistfulness. "I grew up a bastard, unable to inherit land or a title. I wasn't meant to have a wife or a babe of my own."
I wasn't good enough then. I'm not good enough now.
Daenerys heard echoes of the unspoken words plainly. For a man of such heart and honor, it cut her to see him struggle with his doubts when he approached everything else so courageously. The constant betrayals and abuse Daenerys had suffered at the hands of her brother Viserys had cut her deeply years ago. She'd shed the pain of her past completely when her older sibling had been crowned in a torrent of liquid gold. His death had been a relief to the point she hardly thought of him anymore. But Jaehaerys was different. He carried his emotions closely and felt the pain of his past deeply. Where he had a generous and forgiving nature the family members who had wronged him, he could just as equally freeze out and pass sentence on men who had betrayed him with a swift swing of a sword.
Jaehaerys was a mesh of ice and fire embodied in a handsome exterior; devoted, honorable, and passionate. Sansa Stark was the most fortunate of women to have such a husband. Not all women could boast the same.
"Your Grace," Missandei greeted as she entered the tent. The presence of her devoted handmaiden was always a welcome one. Draped in furs and a leather dress, Missandei was not fond of the cold, and would often wear her many layers even while seated before a fire.
"Missandei," Daenerys smiled kindly. "I gather we're still trapped here."
The handmaiden nodded. "Yes. On our way here, Lord Tyrion and I were summoned to the bedside of Brandon Stark by Meera Reed. Lord Stark had a vision and was insistent with speaking to Lord Tyrion personally. I was bade to invite you as well."
The idea of being summoned by a crippled young man should have irked, her, but Brandon Stark was the Three Eyed Raven, his invitations could not be refused. Bran wasn't a king, and he didn't wield his power for political gain. Instead, he seemed to cultivate a position outside the traditional social structure. No maester, septon, red priestess, or noble could ignore his abilities. Being unique, nobles and slaves alike would venture forth when summoned by Three Eyed Raven and sit before him respectfully.
Leaving the little dragons to one of their trusted minders, Daenerys and her handmaid ventured through the snowy camp under armed guard, their short leather dresses repelling the ice and snow, and their cloaks providing some comfort from a sudden gale wind. With her nephew conferring with the Night's Watch, Daenerys was greeted by Meera Reed, who was steadily assembling more dragon glass arrows on the ground before the fire.
"They've been in a vision," Meera said quietly. "Not sure what they've seen. Bran didn't tell me. He wanted Lord Tyrion to see it first. I'm to let you in when they're finished so you can see it for yourself."
When she was allowed to join her Hand and Brandon Stark in the veiled space, Daenerys was momentarily aghast at the solemn and sad countenance of her advisor. His handsome face and sad eyes spoke of a tragedy she'd yet to see.
"Your Grace," Bran Stark greeted somberly. "I know the identity of the third dragon rider."
Daenerys sat gracefully next to her faithful advisor, and reached out to take Brandon Starks hand into her own.
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The three of them were in a grand bedroom in King's Landing. The queen's chamber, no doubt. Daenerys recognized her mother from Bran's earlier visions. She was younger in this vision, her pregnant body heavy with child. Even now, Rhaella was lovely. She didn't look wane and broken as she had during Daenerys' own birth, but her mother looked tired and weary as she spoke with a beautiful honey haired woman sitting at her bedside.
"I'm so happy to see you, Joanna," the queen said through her fatigue. "I know how much you despise King's Landing."
Joanna Lannister. Tyrion's mother. She was willowy, with beautiful features and luminous skin. Her eyes were bright blue, and she wore the stately robes of red and gold which symbolized her house. Daenerys spared a glance at her Hand and saw his sad face drink in every curve of his mother's face. It was difficult to see one's mother, a woman you would never really know, brought to life right before your very eyes.
"What can I do to make you more comfortable?" The beautiful blonde woman said, her gentle voice soothing and brightening the darkening gloom in the room. Joanna Lannister tucked the queen deeper into the covers. "Tea, perhaps?" The bonds of friendship between the two women was clearly evident.
"I wish for you to sit with me for a while," Queen Rhaella said with a sigh. "I cannot attend the tourney. The king says all the excitement will startle the babe from my womb. He doesn't wish to lose another son. He imprisoned me for the last son I lost."
Aerys must have already been slipping into madness. Daenerys remembered the stories of all the miscarried and stillborn babies her mother had lost during her short life. She'd learned of her mother's imprisonment, rapes, and accusations of infidelity. Rhaella seemed to bear the burden of her husband's instability as gracefully as she could.
"May the mother have mercy and see this little one thrive," Joanna said sympathetically, squeezing the queen's hand and rising to kiss her on the cheek. "The gods willing, you'll see a line of children sitting next to you at the tourney for the king's twentieth year of his reign. Both of you will be pleased with such a blessing."
The hope of such a scene pricked at the corners of the queen's mouth, making her smile. She had such a lovely smile, Daenerys thought. Lovely and radiant. No one could say the queen wasn't beautiful and dutiful, just as she was expected to be.
The women chatted amiably for some time, and as the queen drifted off to sleep, Joanna Lannister bid her friend farewell with a gentle kiss to the brow. Daenerys, Bran, and Lord Tyrion followed Lady Lannister from the queen's chambers to the main hall of the royal apartments. Nothing seemed out of place, save the king's guard which were approaching her from a distance away. To her credit, the lady didn't falter when she saw them, but rather continued her journey back to the tower reserved for the King's Hand.
The king's guard intercepted her course, greeting her with a stern and unwavering message. "Lady Lannister. The king requests your presence in his chambers."
The lady stood confidently, a subtle ridge of steel holding her spine straight. Nothing out of place, but a graceful and poised stance demonstrating her highborn status. "If it would please the king, I would ask of him to send for me in the morning when my husband may be in attendance."
"It would please the king to see you directly," came the response from the King's Guard.
Lady Lannister gave a slight incline of her head and said nothing. Her hands clasped in front of her in a gesture of good breeding, the allowed herself to be led away from the direction of the Hand's chambers to those of the king.
Daenerys read the worried expression on Lord Tyrion's face as the lady and the king's guards walked swiftly away.
"Did Aerys hate your mother?" Daenerys asked Tyrion as they followed the lady and her escorts to the king's chamber.
Tyrion shook his head. "I heard Grand Maester Pycell say King Aerys insulted my mother at the tournament by asking her if nursing her children had ruined her breasts. My father went into a rage, and tried to resign as Hand of the King. The king refused the resignation, as I recall."
When they'd entered the king's chambers, Daenerys held her breath as she beheld the vision of her father, King Aerys. He wasn't handsome by any means, and the shabby state of his hair made him look more like a pauper than a Targaryen king. He had piercing violet eyes, which seemed to be the only redeeming feature he had. But Daenerys couldn't shake the feeling that this man was already straddling the cusp of madness, prone to fits of violence she'd only heard by second hand account.
"You were not at the tourney today, my lady," The king said tonelessly. "It would have pleased us greatly to have you presiding with us in the royal box."
"I was summoned to the queen's bedside, your grace." Joanna Lannister said humbly. "She felt my presence was needed to sooth the babe in her womb. He has been quite active of late." The lady stood gracefully composed, demure in stature with the calm demeanor of a woman experienced in court politics.
"Yet you missed the tourney," Aerys continued, standing lax but on guard like a dragon in its den. "Without you, no one could be called a queen of love and beauty."
"Surely, your grace. That is a title benefiting our beautiful queen. She is much beloved by all your people. Her condition only makes her more radiant."
"I don't remember you in such a condition yourself." The king said smoothly. "I can hardly tell the difference between radiance and merely sweat on a brow. Come, take a glass of wine with me." He began to pour his own glass of wine from a pitcher and several goblets on a nearby table.
"A generous offer, your grace. Wine at this time of the afternoon does not agree with me."
The refusal set off a slight tick in the king's eye. "Do you disobey your king, my lady?" The words were themselves not dangerous, but there was a tone in his voice which harkened otherwise.
The lady did not tremble at the sudden anger spilling in the room. Her voice was soothing, sweet, and very clear. "Please enjoy a glass for me, your grace. I do not wish for you to wait for refreshment on my behalf."
"It would not do to refuse me, Lady Lannister," the king filled another goblet with Arbor Red wine.
Joanna, beautiful and noble like a proud lioness, deflected each one of the king's barbs politely and respectfully, which only seemed to enrage the king further.
On the fifth refusal, the damn of the king's madness broke, it was with violent consequences. Aerys made a lunge at the beautiful woman, knocking the wine glasses onto their sides. Although she tried to avoid the sudden lunge, the king was unencumbered by heavy fabrics and skirts. One of his hands grasped the soft skin of her neck choking off her airflow. He laid a quick punch to her abdomen, knocking the remaining breath from her body. Hunched forward and vulnerable, Lady Joanna was hauled roughly to the nearest table, and within several minutes, the king had her trapped face down against the surface. In what could only be described as bloodlust and madness in his eyes, Aerys quickly tore at the lady's many dress layers, found her womanhood, and mounted her from behind.
Daenerys felt her heart seize in her chest. "I don't want to see this," Daenerys said angrily, horrified by the scene. Watching her father take an unwilling woman was an unholy act to see.
Tyrion looked stricken, and if Daenerys' heart hadn't already been broken, the look on her friend's face would have surely caused her chest to burst apart.
Brandon Stark watched on impassively. His eyes were full of sadness, and Daenerys had the feeling he'd seen this sliver of history play out before. "Listen to what he's saying to her," Bran said tonelessly.
Through the king's grunts and Lady Lannister's pained gasps, a steady stream of though dripped from Aerys' lips.
"I will take my first night rights from you every day while you're here," The king spat, pounding harder into his quarry. "You'll obey your king, lady. You'll obey or those brats of yours will wash up dead on the beach of Casterly Rock. Tywin's ilk will be smothered to death in their own beds. Do you hear me?"
The king ranted and raved, promising death to each of her children over and over if the lady didn't comply.
"Then your husband, I'll sever him bowel to throat, leave him in the sun and let you watch as the sun and the animals devour him alive." Spittle erupted from the king's mouth in foamy bursts. "I'll let him watch as I rut you bloody. He'll die knowing there's nothing he can do when I choke the life from you as he expires. You, your pompous husband, and your little brats all dead. Give me what is rightfully mine, my lady. Let me have you, and I will let them all live."
That was the moment Joanna Lannister broke. The king slowed his pace when she nodded stiffly and endured the king's assault. After several long minutes, Aerys' movements and words became erratic, and as he found his pleasure, he pulled Joanna's head back from the desk until she screamed in pain.
The lady fell back onto the desk when the king released her braid, her breath catching from fear and her eyes not yet breaking into tears. Aerys collapsed atop of his conquest, he stayed in place for some time, resting in a haze of lust and entitlement.
"I would plant a Blackfyre in you," Aerys said conversationally, his hips began thrusting again. "I want to see my seed take root in your womb and have you birth my son. A Blackfyre to aid the Prince who was Promised. A dragon raised by lions." The assault continued, and only when the pain became too great did the lady cry out. The king, his eyes wild and bright with cruelty, tempered his movements. "Can't have you too bruised. I need you intact and able to carry my progeny inside you. And we don't need your husband asking inconvenient questions, do we?"
"I don't want to see this anymore," Daenerys said loudly, her eyes pricking with tears. Bran nodded, and the scene changed. The room was one she had never seen before. A large airy chamber overlooking the sea.
"This is my mother's chamber at Casterly Rock," Lord Tyrion said with awe. His voice was distant, his turmoil from the previous vision still at the forefront of his mind.
Lady Joanna was laboring, the flurry of attendants and the soothing words of the maester flowing over the woman's pants and cries. The process of childbirth was not going well, as the worried faces of those in the room could attest. The lady was losing too much blood during the birth, and she occasionally broke down and cried out in agony.
Daenerys had witnessed a vision of her own birth almost a year ago when she first met Brandon Stark, and while her mother had been joyous after delivering a healthy daughter, the birthing bed of Joanna Lannister resembled a scene akin to battlefield triage as opposed to a happy occasion.
"Push again, my lady," the maester encouraged, his shaking hands coated in blood leaking from the lady's channel. "You must push or this child will never be born."
"She labored two days to bring me into the world," Lord Tyrion said blankly, witnessing the fear and concern in the faces of the attendants. "I was told she died having me."
Joanna Lannister seemed to pull the last bit of strength from her body, and pushed her child into being. The babe slid into the waiting hands of the maester amid a stream of fluid and a river of blood. The baby cried, a piteous sound, before it was whisked away by a waiting midwife.
The beautiful face of Joanna Lannister began to pale as more blood rushed from her body. While resting from the birth, she began to speak. Only the lady's maid beside her seemed to take her words with any seriousness.
"The babe?" Joanna said wearily.
"A boy," The maid replied, not responding how the babe appeared somewhat malformed.
"Send for my lord husband," the lady stated flatly. The maid hesitated, unwilling to leave her mistress in a time of great distress. "Go!" Joanna's forceful words had their desired effect. The maid rushed from the room in a flurry of skirts, and as she opened the door, Tywin Lannister entered the room in a rush.
Tywin Lannister's personality filled the chamber as soon as he walked into it. His handsome face possessed eyes intent on one person alone – his wife. Lord Lannister's tall form stalked through the room and directly to his wife's bedside. For all the horrors the man could inflict with his words and political intrigues, he stooped to Joanna Lannister's side and caressed her face lovingly. They gazed at each other for a moment, the concern and worry slipping through the cracks in Tywin's façade.
"I'm dying," Lady Lannister said softly. "I can feel it." Joanna's head lulled pack as her luminous skin continued to lose color.
"You will not die," her husband disagreed, his firm tone sounding like a command rather than a request. "You will live a long and healthy life and I will be by your side." Speaking from a place of confidence, it was clear the Lord of Casterly Rock didn't quite believe the words spilling form his lips.
"Name him Tyrion. It's a good name." Joanna said shakily, the color continuing to drain from her face with each word. Her arms reached out for Tywin and he swooped down to hold her close. He held her in his arms for several minutes, brushing the sweat from her brow and kissing her soundly. The unwieldy cries of the newborn agitated the lion lord.
"Shut him up!" Tywin roared to the midwife, who was furiously hushing the baby in her care. "And you!" He looked at the maester accusingly. "Redouble your efforts. Heal her!"
Even on the cusp of death, Joanna Lannister soothed her husband by using her thin cold hand to lead him back to her gaze. She brought his head down for a lingering kiss. That silenced Tywin to the point of stillness.
"The babe," Lady Joanna said. "It's not his fault, husband. Tell him it's not his fault. He is innocent. The gods may take me, but it is not his fault."
Those were the last words she spoke. The beautiful golden haired lady struggled for breath in her husband's arms for a long time as her life blood continued to flow onto the bed. The maester, calm and controlled, continued to address Joanna Lannister's wounds, but to no avail. She drew a final short gasp, then expired.
No one in the room made a sound. Tywin Lannister continued to wrap his arms around his wife, his hands grasping at her night shift and his face buried in her hair. The servants and the master turned to leave, giving their lord room to grieve. There were none left in the room save the ghosts of the past and the three living souls watching from a few feet away.
"My father took me out to the edge of the sea," Tyrion said without emotion. "That's what he told me. He carried me from the birthing room and held me out over the waves, intending for the water to take me. I always wondered what made him stay his hand. What possessed him to change his mind? He always hated me. Now I see there wasn't anything he would do for her, even let the product of her shame draw breath because she said I was innocent."
"Time to go," Brandon Stark said, and the scene before them disappeared.
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